


aka. Dean Campbell

by Valinde (Valyria)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha John, Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Community: spnkink_meme, M/M, Not Beta Read, Omega Dean, Prompt Fill, Sam and John are kinda shitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyria/pseuds/Valinde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since he's an omega, Dean's not allowed to hunt. In fact he's barely allowed out of the house. When John and Sam go hunting he has to stay home and look after the apartment. So Dean hunts in secret, earning himself quite the reputation as 'Dean Campbell'. </p><p>Another hunter figures out his secret though and attacks him, but a mysterious stranger claiming to be an angel saves him.</p><p>prompt fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aka. Dean Campbell

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the following [ prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/78445.html?thread=29030509) at the LJ kinkmeme.

* * *

They take the nest of vamps out pretty smoothly considering there are twenty bloodsuckers and only the two of them.  
  
Dean prefers working alone, and he doesn’t particularly  _like_  the guy, but the alpha he hooked up with for the gig knows his shit, and he’s known Bobby for years apparently, so Dean’s willing to give him a pass despite the aura of throbbing alpha angst that this Gordon dude is giving out. He’s used to ignoring alphas and their shit after all. And besides, there’s a vamp bonfire in front of him, all the fanged freaks dead, and that’s what counts.  
  
But the job’s done now, and it’s time to tuck  _Dean Campbell_  away and drag  _Dean Winchester_  out into the light again.   
  
Dean sighs.   
  
Sam and John are due back from their own latest hunt and if the alphas come home and find the apartment empty they’ll freak. As usual. Despite the fact that Dean’s a grown man – 22 years old – they still treat him like the sweet, delicate omega princess he  _really_  isn’t. A glance at his watch tells him that if he leaves now he can make it back before dawn, beat them by a few hours. He hopes Brady hasn’t come sniffing around the apartment looking for him while he’s been gone. The last thing he needs is Sam’s dickhead buddy letting slip that Dean’s been AWOL again.  
  
Gordon’s pulling on a cheap beer off to Dean’s side and watching the vamps slowly BBQ. Dean shifts and gets his attention. “Look, thanks man,” he says, offering Gordon a smile that’s friendly enough and a hand to shake. “I gotta split, but this was good. Wouldn’t been able to get these bloodsuckers solo.”  
  
The older hunter doesn’t smile or answer right away, just stares at Dean, and it makes Dean’s hackles rise, makes his instincts clamor for attention. He shifts his weight back, tensing for something, but right when he’s certain Gordon’s gonna snap and lash out at him for whatever reason, his face breaks into a bright grin. “No problem,” he says. “Was a pleasure to work with the great Dean Campbell. Quite the reputation you’re working up there kid.”  
  
Dean offers an awkward smile at the only half sarcastic compliment – he has started to get a bit of a reputation in certain circles – and shakes Gordon’s hand. “I’m not a great anything man. Just lucky,” he tells him.   
  
“Luck huh?” Gordon asks, smile turning into something menacing. “Well I think your luck’s run out bitch.”  
  
For a moment Dean stares, frozen, praying he’s misheard or something, but that calculating gleam in Gordon’s eye and the way the handshake has turned into an iron grip tell a different story. Dean doesn’t bother trying to play dumb or talk his way out of the situation. Experience has taught him that there are only two ways to deal with an alpha looking at an omega like that: bend over and take it or get the hell outta dodge.  
  
As always, Dean chooses option 2. Gordon’s stronger than him, but Dean’s younger and fitter and he has had a lot of practice. He slams his heel down on Gordon’s foot and shoves at him, tripping him enough to twist out of his grip, and then he runs.  
  
His machete is back by the fire, waiting to be cleaned, but he has his bowie and Dean pulls it out as he races through the old boneyard the vamps had been nesting in. Behind him Gordon laughs. “That’s right!” he yells. “Run bitch! I like a good chase!”  
  
Dean would have made it, he’s faster than Gordon, but in the end he’s defeated by a fucking  _tombstone_  of all things. It’s fallen on its side, hidden in the overgrown grass, and he fucking trips and brains himself on the edge of a marble slab and that’s it.   
  
Lights out Dean.

 

* * *

 

He comes to what could be seconds or minutes later. His head’s ringing painfully, vision dimming and dinner threatening to make a re-appearance, and Gordon is on top of him.  
  
Dean thrashes and twists, but Gordon’s a hunter – he knows how to keep someone down – and by the time Dean’s head clears to a low ache, he’s face down on dusty stone, cuffed to the iron grill of an old mausoleum and Gordon is tearing at his jeans.   
  
_“No,”_  he slurs. “fuckin’ don’t...” Alpha mating pheromones stick sharp in the back of his throat and make it hard to think though, make some primitive part of him want to go still and quiet instead of fight.   
  
“Oh don’t worry baby,” Gordon tells him, shoving at the denim and dodging the awkward kicks Dean aims at him. “I’ll take care of you. Knot you up like a good bitch.” He punctuates his promise by grinding his crotch against Dean’s ass. The hard press of his cock cuts through the fog of Dean’s aching head and he well, panics. He’s had close shaves before, but nothing quite this close. The cuffs jangle, but they’re solid and the iron grate they’re looped through is strong. He tries to kick Gordon again, but the alpha just sits on his thighs.   
  
“Fucking get off me!” he yells.  
  
Gordon ignores him and yanks at his hair so he can lick at Dean’s neck. The feel of his tongue, hot and wet, is repulsive. “Mm. You smell so sweet,” he says, breath hot against Dean’s ear. He licks a slow stripe up Dean’s neck, making him flinch. “And you taste even better.”  
  
Dean tries to headbutt him.  
  
“Smell so fresh baby… tell me, you a sweet little virgin for me?” Gordon asks as he drags Dean’s jeans over his hips and starts groping at his underwear. Dean ignores his words and bucks, trying to dislodge him, as the alpha tugs at the cotton to get at bare skin. “You smell like it. I think you are. Think you’ve been hiding away, pretending, guarding this sweet little ass of yours.” Dean yanks at the cuffs and starts seriously considering breaking a thumb to get free. “Well that’s done now,” Gordon continues, tearing his shorts away and shoving a hand between Dean’s cheeks to prod at his hole. “Once everyone knows the great Dean Campbell’s a bitch, you won’t be able to hunt no more.”   
  
His finger presses, dry and rough, and Dean flinches away. “Get the fuck  _off –“_  he’s cut off as the alpha pushes in, hot and painful, and the shock of the unwanted touch silences him.  _This is actually happening._ Dean thinks. _I’m gonna get raped in a fucking mausoleum._  
  
“Fuck! So  _tight_  baby,” Gordon croons, jerking his finger painfully. “Think I’ll keep you. Tie you to my bed. Always wanted an omega bitch of my own.” Dean can barely follow the shit he’s spouting, the _wrong wrong wrong_ radiating from his clenching ass is too distracting. “Gonna mate you Dean,” Gordan tells him, and that gets through because the thought is so fucking terrifying. “Make you own personal fuck-toy.”   
  
For the first time Dean thinks maybe his dad was right to keep him locked away. He can’t breathe. His head aches and he’s numb and shaky with shock. Gordon is a heavy weight on top of him, crushing him into the floor, his excitement and arousal so thick in the air Dean can taste it, is choking on it. Gordon moans and works his finger further inside Dean, drawing a pained noise from the back of Dean’s throat.  
  
“That’s right baby, open up for me,” the alpha tells him. “So tight… I’m gonna split this ass in two before I’m done. Can’t wait to hear you scream.”  
  
_Please -_ Dean prays as he uses what little strength he has left to try and buck Gordon off him -  _Please don’t let this happen._  It’s no use though, the alpha slams his head into the stone floor until Dean stops fighting. He lets out a broken sob as Gordon tries to work another finger up inside him, the pain sharp and hot now.  _Please please please._

 Gordon spits, the noise loud and obscene in the quiet, and uses his saliva as lube since Dean isn’t getting wet for him. The feel of it, slimy and slick, is somehow even worse than the pain of the fingers. _Help me. Please. Someone._

Dean thinks it’s his concussion that has his ears ringing for a moment, but then it gets loud, really loud and Gordon starts yelling and suddenly the weight and awful press of him is gone. The noise grows to a crescendo and something lights up Dean’s eyelids pink and transparent it’s so bright, and then abruptly it’s quiet and dark again and all Dean can hear is his own ragged breath.

Footsteps, and they didn’t sound like Gordon’s. Dean tries to rally his wits, his strength, but all he can manage is to sort of shuffle forwards a little and raise his head a bit. He makes out a figure in the dark but can’t see any features. “wha..?”

The man stops at Dean’s shoulder and leans down, tapping at the handcuffs. They click open and Dean slumps down onto the floor. He knows he has to move, assess this new threat, figure what the fuck is going on, what Gordon’s doing, but he’s tired and his head’s ringing and he can’t think straight, can’t keep his eyes open. With supreme effort he manages to roll onto his back.

For a moment he just stares, because he must had really hit his head. A gorgeous guy in a suit is staring down at him and flared out behind him are dark shadows that looked like... wings? Warm fingers press to his forehead and then there is blessed silence.

 

* * *

 

Dean wakes up back at his hotel. Lying on his bed. 

He blinks and assesses the situation for a moment before opening his eyes. Nothing hurts, nothing even aches with the strain of a bit of honest heavy lifting, let alone the pain he should be in from fighting vampires and getting attacked by Gordon.

Warily, he opens his eyes.

He’s lying on top of the covers in the same outfit as the night before, except it’s pristine and clean, not so much as a tear or faded bloodstain, and there’s an alpha standing beside him, looking down at him intently.

Dean sits up and stares back, memories of Gordon and his unlikely, bizarre, rescue returning to him.

“Dean Winchester,” the guy says and  _wow_  that’s some voice he’s packing. “I am Castiel.”

Dean blinks. “Um. Hi... Castiel.” He glances around the hotel room as if it can help him figure out what the hell is going on. “What’s? Um... what happened?”

The guy – Castiel (and what kind of name is that?) – tilts his head to one side and stares at Dean. His eyes are  _really_  blue. “You prayed to me,” he says. “Your soul is pure, your need was dire and the one who sort to harm you was desecrating holy ground with his sin, so I was able to answer your prayer.”

Dean stares, remembering... wings. “Wait wait wait. What are you?” he asks.

“I am an angel of the Lord,” Castiel tells him calmly.

“An angel?” Dean repeats skeptically. “You’re an angel?” He’s grateful to the guy, sure, but he can’t help the sarcasm in his voice.

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “I am an angel.”

Dean gets to his feet. “Well, um, thanks... Castiel,” he edges around the bed. “But I really should head off.”

Castiel nods. “Farewell Dean Winchester.”

There’s a beat of noise, like sheets snapping in the wind or... wings (!?) and then poof – the guy’s gone.

Dean freaks out, but he can’t find any clues as to what the hell ‘Castiel’ is around the room – no EMF no hex bags - and he has missed calls from his dad and Sam, so he grabs his gear and heads to the car.

He's halfway back to Lawrence before he realizes he has no idea what happened to Gordon.

 

* * *

 

His dad eyeballs him suspiciously when he gets home, then drags him close and scents him. 

Thankfully whatever the mysterious Castiel did to clean him up and fix his clothes also got rid of Gordon’s stench though, so Dean just smells like clean unmated omega, and John relaxes a little. He’s still pissed that Dean dared to go out alone even though Dean weaves some lie about going to visit Bobby - the only person he’s allowed to be around unsupervised apart from Sam - and John and Sam are surly and bitchy for the duration of their stay home. They hover around Dean being overbearing Alphas in every sense of the word.

To make matters worse, that dick Brady comes over on Friday night with another goddamn courting gift – flowers and chocolates - and John makes Dean cook him dinner to show his appreciation. The meal is awful, Brady making cow eyes and calling him ‘sweetheart’ and other nauseating crap while John and Sam act all smug. After he’s cleaned up and done the dishes, Dean’s sent upstairs so the alphas can watch the game, drink beer and arrange his life for him or whatever it is they do when he’s not around.

They’re home a week all up and Dean tries not to go insane playing the dutiful omega for them, but it’s hard. He can only bake so many pies to cheer himself up before he starts wanting to hurl them at the walls. Or Sam’s fat head.

When they head off on a hunt two states over, Dean’s on the phone to Bobby within the hour.

“What the hell happened?” the old hunter snaps before Dean has a chance to say more than ‘Hey Bobby’. “Got a police report here saying Walker turned up in a church yard with his eyeballs  _burned outta his skull.”_

“Huh,” Dean had wondered what had happened to him. “Can’t say I’ll be shedding any tears,” he says. “Fucker waited till we’d cleared out the vamps then jumped me.”

Bobby goes silent on the end of the line for a moment. “You alright son?” he asks gruffly.

“Yeah, someone popped up and defended my honor,” Dean replies dryly, “and apparently burned out Gordon’s eyeballs while they were at it.” 

Dean explains what he remembers and to say Bobby’s skeptical of Dean’s angelic rescue would be putting it mildly. 

“Just how hard you hit your head boy?”

Still, given what Dean remembers – bright light, ringing in his ears, wings – and what Castiel seems to be able to do – heal, burn eyeballs, mend clothes – Bobby has no other suggestions.

Dean thinks of little else for a month, but no one else loses their eyeballs and he doesn’t see his mysterious savior again, so he files the encounter away under ‘weird’ and forgets it.

Then he runs into some trouble with a particularly nasty poltergeist and would have found himself thrown seven stories down if not for the timely arrival of one Castiel, supposed angel of the Lord.

One minute Dean’s clinging precariously to the rotten rail of a staircase, his internal monologue something like _oh god fuck please no_ because the drop below is yawning dark and dizzy under his feet, pulling at him, and the next he’s back on the ground floor, a rumpled angel standing a little too close and gripping his shoulder. “Wha-?” he splutters. “Castiel?”

The angel frowns and vanishes as the poltergeist screams from somewhere above. A few seconds later he returns. “The spirit has been released,” he tells Dean.

Dean blinks. “Um… Thanks?”

Castiel nods. “You are welcome Dean Winchester,” he says and then he’s gone before Dean can say anything else.

 

* * *

 

 

He only has to wait a week for his next angelic visitation. Castiel doesn’t actually save him this time – but he certainly makes taking out the overgrown werewolf a hell of a lot easier. Dean thanks him, but again, the angel is gone before he can ask him why he’s following him around. 

Bobby’s still suspicious, but it’s agreed that if Castiel, whatever he is, wants to help and isn’t hurting anyone, they can let him do his thing. For now.

And it keeps happening. To start with it’s only when shit’s getting real and Dean’s in serious trouble, but gradually Castiel starts appearing more and more, until it reaches the stage where he’s more or less Dean’s weird partner when it comes to hunts.

Dean knows he probably shouldn’t trust Castiel, he’s obviously not human, but he’s really handy in a pinch, amusing if dorky company on the road and he never treats Dean like an omega. He never hides Dean’s shoes so he can’t go outside (Sam’s favorite trick) or waits around expecting Dean to make him his meals and clean up after him (every alpha  _ever_ ) and he certainly doesn’t treat Dean like he’s some delicate cherry blossom. He’s not  _‘sweetheart’_  or  _‘baby’_  to Castiel, he’s  _Dean._

He can’t help it, he tries to keep his distance, but Castiel quickly ends up being Dean’s closest friend and confidante. There’s never any judgment in those blue eyes of his and it’s such a relief to relax, not having to pretend to be Dean Campbell the badass beta or Dean Winchester the obedient omega around him. Dean can be himself with Cas. He can tell him dirty jokes, order double serves of pie and drink his beer from the bottle instead of a glass without getting disapproving looks and best of all - complain all he wants about John, Sam and goddamn _Brady_.

So really, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise that when Dean’s heat hits, he ends up praying to him. It’s not even something he does intentionally, one minute he’s jerking off with three fingers shoved up his ass, the next he’s panting Cas’s name, pretending it’s his hand wrapped around his dick, his fingers stretching him open.

It’s just that, since Cas is an angel and can  _hear_  Dean’s thoughts when they are directed at him -  _prayers_  - he answers.

Dean’s embarrassed of course, because even though Cas is an alpha, he’s never shown any interest in Dean or sex in general. But his eyes darken as he takes Dean in, and when Dean says his name again, breathy and pleading, he’s suddenly naked and  _right there,_  eager to show Dean just how interested he is.

Dean’s dripping with his heat, delirious with need, and it’s not long at all before Cas has him pinned to the mattress. For a moment he wonders what his dad and Sam, what fucking  _Brady_  with his flowers and chocolates, would think if they could see him right now, begging an alpha to fuck him, but then Cas is kissing and licking at him and sliding into Dean where he aches, filling him up, and his brain flatlines.

Cas is hot and thick and right where he needs him and it’s good, so good, makes Dean moan and whine.

He doesn’t spout any of that clichéd alpha shit, doesn’t call Dean his bitch or talk about breeding him up, he just fucks him. Really enthusiastically. Repeatedly. They spend the next few days communicating through grunts and moans and very small words, perfectly attuned to one another. When Cas finally bites Dean and claims him, it seems inevitable and right.

Which is how Dean ends up mated to an angel of the lord.

Of course the game’s up then. Dean skulks home after being missing for a week and John takes one look at him and just  _knows_ and then he and Sam are on him, demanding to know who it is they smell on him.

“I thought I raised you better than this Dean!” his father yells. 

“What would your mother say if she knew you were sleeping around, letting strangers knot you through your heat?”

Dean purses his lips. It’s an old argument, references to the late Mary Winchester, perfect omega wife and mother, as a means to keep Dean in line, to remind him how he’s supposed to act and he’s had enough of it. “I don’t know!” he snaps back. “She died when I was four, I hardly even remember her!”

His father’s face goes slack in shock and Dean knows he’s pushed too far. John Winchester might be controlling when it comes to Dean, refusing to allow him to hunt, insisting he stay home at the apartment and keep house like a good little omega, but he’s a good father. Dean knows, misguided as he is, that John’s heart is in the right place - he’s just trying to protect Dean. He’s worried he’ll lose Dean like he lost Mary.

He doesn’t want their fight to get any worse, so he picks his duffle back up and heads straight out the door again. John’s yelling at him from the sidewalk when he pulls away, but Dean ignores him. 

A block from the apartment, Cas appears in the passenger seat. “Your father cares for you a great deal Dean,” he says. “But he does not know you very well.”

Cas always knows what to say. Dean sighs. “Yeah, you got that right.”

 

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t see John or Sam for almost three months. Bobby tells him that they’re worried, so he sends the occasion text from a prepaid phone to let them know he’s alive, but with his mate at his side, there’s nothing holding him back anymore and he submerges himself in Dean Campbell. With an angel on his team, hunting is fun. 

They criss-cross the country, tackling everything from minor curses to demonic possessions. Castiel plays at being human, only using his powers when he and Dean are alone, and even though he’s pretty weird and a terrible conversationalist, most hunters are happy enough to give Dean Campbell’s mate a free pass.

It’s like a holiday. All the good parts of hunting with none of the bad. There are no dead-ends and no monsters too strong. They track and hunt and kill and then Cas curls up beside Dean at night, skin smooth and angel-sweet, blessing away the scrapes and bruises of the hunt with kisses.

It’s probably the general mood of an extended violent honeymoon that means Dean misses the signs they themselves are being tracked. Then he wakes up late one morning to the sounds of his father and brother breaking into his hotel room.

Dean opens the door and glares at them.

Cas isn’t around, it’s still early. He has a habit of fetching coffee and breakfast for Dean though, so he has a fair idea where his mate has fluttered off to.

John and Sam shove their way inside scenting the air obviously, looking around as though they’ll find Dean’s alpha hiding in the corner of the room or something. Dean stomps into the bathroom to shower and dress. When he emerges Castiel is sitting at the little breakfast table, two tall cups of coffee and a takeaway container that smells like bacon and eggs arranged neatly in front of him.

Dean takes in the tense atmosphere. Sam and John are both glaring, the smell of their barely contained anger sharp in the air between them. In contrast Cas is his usual unflappable self.

“Good Morning Dean,” he says, as if John and Sam aren’t even there.

Dean steels himself for the inevitable argument and crosses to stand at his alpha’s side. Castiel passes him a coffee. It has three sugars, just like Dean likes. “Thanks Cas,” Dean says before turning to face his father and Sam. He clears his throat. “Dad, Sam, this is Castiel. My mate.”

John sneers. “Yeah we’ve met.”

Dean sighs. It was too much to hope that his dad would just congratulate them and leave. 

“Don’t think much of alphas who steal their omegas from their families,” his dad says. “And I think even less of one willing to let his omega run around hunting.”

“I did not ‘steal’ Dean,” Cas says. “Nor would such a thing be possible since that would imply ownership over him.”

And that right there is why Dean loves his mate, apart from the mind blowing sex and general BAMFness of course.

“You sure as hell didn’t come courting him!” John insists. 

“You just took him!” Sam adds. “We haven’t seen him in months!”

Castiel shrugs. “I believe Dean wished to avoid a scene such as this one.”

“Dean,” John says. “It’s not safe here, this alpha can’t look after you. You’re coming home.”

Dean snorts.

His father frowns. “If you want a mate, I’ll find one for you Dean. One that will treat you right and look after you.”

Sam nods in agreement. “Brady’s been asking after you,” he adds.

Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m  _mated,"_  he snaps. “I  _chose_  Cas. I’m staying with him, this is my home now.”

Sam huffs. “A  _hotel room?_  Omega’s need a safe, stable home environment. Clearly this guy can’t give you that.”

“Your brother’s right Dean. A life on the road’s no place for you.”

Dean grits his teeth. “What? I should be back home in Lawrence keeping house for you!?”

“You’re my responsibility Dean,” John says. “I know it’s been hard on you, growing up like you did, no mother to teach you –“

“I learned just fine dad!” Dean yells. “Until I turned 16 and I got my first heat and suddenly everything I’d learned, everything you taught, was stuff I wasn’t allowed to do anymore!”

“I know Dean,” John tells him. “It’s my fault. I raised you like an alpha, confused you. I was sure you'd be an alpha or a beta, but you’re not. You're an omega Dean and you need to come to terms with that.”

“I know I’m an omega! I’ve always been a fucking omega. I was an omega when you taught me how to shoot, I was an omega when I gutted that werewolf when I was 14 and I was an omega yesterday when I sent a black-eyed bitch back to the pit!”

“Calm down Dean,” Sam says. “You’re upsetting yourself.” He glares at Cas. “Aren’t you going to do something? You’re his mate. You should be trying to calm him down.”

“Dean is permitted to be ‘upset’,” Cas replies. “Given your treatment of him, I would be concerned if he were not.”

The words, Cas’s casual disregard for everything John and Sam are trying to force on him, makes Dean want to kiss him.

John clears his throat angrily. “Dean, _get in the car,"_  he orders using his Alpha Voice.

Dean stiffens. His father hasn’t tried to compel him with his Voice in years, not since the time he stole the car when he was 17 and tried to run away.

Castiel bristles and is suddenly right in front of John, one hand twisted in his shirt, “Do not attempt to compel or influence Dean!” he snarls, and  _Jesus._  Cas’s never pulled his Voice on Dean before, but fuck, suddenly Dean wouldn’t mind if he did. The gravelly mix of  _Alpha_  and  _Angel_  radiates power. Dean swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

The air is tense and Sam’s on edge, ready to pounce, but Cas just turns and glares at him.  _“Sit,”_  he demands, using his Voice, and Sam only hesitates for a few seconds before he crumples to the floor like a child and stares up at Castiel in shock. “How does it feel?” Cas asks him. “Do you feel I have any right to control you simply because I can?”

Sam blinks and gapes like a fish.

John struggles in Cas’s grip, trying to knee him. Cas shoves him away and glares at him.  _“You,"_  he growls, “Also require a lesson.  _Sit.”_

John sinks down to the carpet beside Sam.

Dean can’t help but smirk a little at them, it’s sweet seeing them get a taste of their own arrogant medicine.

“I am aware that it is concern for Dean’s welfare that motivates you, so for that reason I will attempt to educate you,” Castiel says. He isn’t using his Alpha Voice anymore, but he still sounds pissed. “Dean is a capable hunter, well able to ensure his own safety.” He looks at John. “You, who trained him, are fully aware of that fact. His reproductive organs have no bearing on his abilities.”

“But he’s an omega! He’s meant to have kids!” John insists. 

“I’m not pregnant dad,” Dean interrupts. “And if I decide I want kids I’m not gonna go chasing after vampires or whatever knocked up! I’m not a moron.”

“So what, I’m just meant to let you put yourself in danger?” John demands. “You’re my son Dean.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “And what the hell’s Sammy? Chopped liver?”

“It’s different –“

“No dad, it really isn’t,” Dean says. “And like Cas says, I’m good at this.”

A knock at the door interrupts further discussion.

“It is the Harvelles,” Cas tells him. He glances dismissively at John and Sam and releases his hold over them. “You may stand.”

Dean ignores the grumbling behind him and opens the door to Ellen and Jo. 

“Mornin’ Campbell,” Ellen offers brusquely before she barges in with her usual disregard for manners. Jo follows with an eyeroll.

John freezes, staring at Ellen like he’s seen a ghost, and Ellen looks just as shocked. “Winchester?!” she demands with open scorn. Dean glances between them curiously.

John looks like he wants to make a run for the door. Sam just frowns in confusion.

Ellen rounds on Dean and wags her finger at him. “Dean Campbell!” she snaps. “What is this…  _cretin_  doing here?”

“… ahh?” Dean hums not sure how to handle that.

“John Winchester is Dean’s father,” Cas offers blandly. “They are estranged so he often goes by his mother’s maiden name, Campbell.”

Ellen wrinkles her nose. “God lord boy, you’re a  _Winchester?”_  she asks at the same time as Sam blurts out  _“You’re Dean Campbell!?”_

For a moment the room is silent, everyone staring at Dean, only Jo not really understanding what the hell’s going on. “… Yeah?” Dean says.

John stares, eyes bugging. “ _Dean Campbell?!_ ” he asks. “That was you this whole time?”

Dean shrugs.

Ellen puts her hands on her hips, glaring at everyone in the room. “Just what in the hell is going on here?”

“John and Sam Winchester were concerned about Dean, but I believe they are now aware their fears were misplaced,” Cas says.

Jo snorts. “Worried about  _Dean?”_  she asks skeptically. “This Dean?” She points. “Dean  _Campbell?_  The guy whose idea of a romantic evening involves flamethrowers and napalm? The guy who gave me a necklace of vamp fangs for my 18th? The guy whose mate can _burn people’s eyes outta their skulls_ just by looking at em?”

Usually Jo’s hero worship makes Dean uncomfortable, but it’s actually kinda nice, if a bit immature, to have her sticking up for him to his family. 

Ellen sighs. “We haven’t got time for this. Singer says there’s more demon sign next town east. Three confirmed deaths already, looks like at least two of em.”

“Bobby?” John asks in confusion. “Bobby knows you’ve been hunting Dean?”

Dean crosses his arms. “Look dad - Ellen, Jo, Cas and I are gonna go deal with some demons,” he says. “You and Sam are welcome to come give us a hand, but I’m done talking about this shit with you. If you can’t handle me hunting, there’s the door. Use it.”

John blinks, shares a look with Sam, and then straightens his shoulders. “Alright, guess I can’t in good conscience pass up a hunt with the famous Dean Campbell,” His voice is strained, but Dean can tell that he’s trying, and that’s more than he ever expected.

“Well then, let’s go gank these dicks.”


End file.
